Away From the Dark (The Light #2)

by Aleatha Romig

  Sara and I both had to make it a couple of days.

  As I walked toward the Cessna, my eyes met Micah’s. He didn’t need to speak. I saw the combination of question and devastation in his expression. Ten minutes ago that look would’ve crushed me, but not now. Pressing my lips into a straight line, I nodded. “I’m sorry I made you wait,” I said, looking around for Father Gabriel.

  Micah grabbed my arm and whispered, “Jacob, I-I’m . . .” He didn’t finish. There were no words.

  I stood taller. “I’m getting her back. Let’s go, so I can come back. Where is he?”

  “In the plane, with Brother Elijah.”

  My eyes opened wide. “Is Elijah going to the Northern Light too?”

  Micah shrugged. “I don’t know what’s happening, with anything, and I hope you’re right.”

  I nodded. His expression told me that he didn’t believe my declaration that I would get Sara back. If I were only Jacob Adams, I wouldn’t believe me either; however, I wasn’t Jacob Adams. I was Agent Jacoby McAlister, and I was fucking doing this.

  Step by step I climbed the stairs, ready to get this show started. Standing at the top of the stairs, with the glare of the sunshine behind me, I was waiting for my eyes to adjust when Father Gabriel spoke.

  “We’re not off to a good start.”

  It wasn’t enough information. Micah wouldn’t know what he meant, but Elijah, sitting across from Father Gabriel, did, and so did I. I saw Elijah’s dark eyes staring in my direction. No longer did they convey the pity I’d seen at the mansion. Father Gabriel was referring to the promise I’d made standing in front of his desk, the promise to be the best pilot and follower he’d ever had. And instead of doing that, I’d made him wait—something I’d never done before.

  Of course I’d never been forced to leave my wife locked in a dungeon either.

  Exhaling, I held my hands behind my back and spread my stance. “I apologize, Father. As you’ve assured, I no longer have distractions. My devotion is fully with you and The Light.”

  He nodded to me and turned to Elijah. “It seems things are under control. I’ll contact you once we’re at the Northern Light. For every minute my call’s delayed, you know what to do.”

  I clenched my teeth, but refrained from speaking.

  Elijah looked at his watch. “Father, what time did you plan on making that call?”

  A smirk came to Father Gabriel’s lips. “I’d planned on leaving here no later than three-thirty. With that schedule I’d be calling by eight.”

  Fucking asshole!

  “Then we’ll stick with the original plan. It’ll be my pleasure,” Elijah replied.

  Yeah, so much for the brotherhood of the Assembly.

  The next time I saw Elijah, I hoped it would be in a holding cell. Kool-Aid was too damn good for him. Our eyes connected as he stood, and this time he didn’t look away. Once he made his way down the steps, Micah came aboard, lifted the stairs, and locked the cabin door.

  The sound reminded me of the lock Richards had secured and momentarily opened a floodgate of thoughts. As I worked to corral them, Micah spoke.

  “Father, is there anything you need before we take off?”

  “No,” Father Gabriel said, looking at me. “However, I don’t want the curtain closed to the cockpit.”

  What the hell did he think I’d do? He’d just threatened my wife in my presence. My main goal was to fly this $30 million tin can as fast as it could go. He’d be back to the Northern Light in time to make that damn call. As Micah and I entered the cockpit, I went for the pilot’s seat, but Micah blocked me. We’d always agreed to switch off responsibilities with each flight. We’d been doing that for years, and he’d piloted us to the Eastern Light, which meant it was now my turn. However, instead of arguing, I nodded, thankful, as Micah spoke wordlessly. His eyes told me that he was upset too, but he’d be able to concentrate, better than I. My mind would be somewhere else.

  “As fast as possible,” I whispered.

  He nodded.

  Once we were airborne and had given our coordinates and plans to the Detroit airport, I settled back. With the open sky and setting sun ahead of us, continually out of reach, I let my mind go somewhere else. It was as Micah had predicted, but it was different. I wasn’t allowing my thoughts to linger in the mansion in Bloomfield Hills. I let them go there only long enough to say a prayer that Sara would make it two more days. Then I switched gears and allowed my mind to focus on the future, one different from the one the man sitting in the cabin of this plane predicted, a future I planned on delivering—sooner rather than later.

  With each mile I formulated my plan. Wednesday’s shipment couldn’t be canceled or changed. It had to happen. Too many alarms would sound if everything didn’t go as scheduled. The Light was a too-well-oiled machine. I didn’t mean the religious organization. I meant the large moneymaking enterprise.

  That was when I remembered Thomas. I wondered when he was next scheduled to fly to the Northern Light and if anyone had figured out that he was missing. If someone had, would that lead to unwanted attention on the Northern Light? The flight plans I’d been happy he’d made last Friday now had me worried. If Father Gabriel had been notified of his disappearance, I hadn’t been informed, and I doubted Thomas was scheduled to return on the weekend. It would be today or later this week.

  I didn’t know whether Father Gabriel’s concern over the stupid envelope was real or not, but either way it needed to be found.

  I worked to mentally retrace my steps. The obvious conclusion was that I’d put it in the pocket of my coat; however, Montana wasn’t Alaska. I didn’t remember whether I’d worn a jacket at the Western Light. If I had, that was probably where it was. If I hadn’t and I’d had it in my hand when I boarded the plane, maybe I’d left it in the cockpit. Or I could have taken it with me into the airport in Lone Hawk. Hell, I couldn’t remember. Maybe I’d taken it in the truck I borrowed or left it in the motel room . . .

  Perspiration dotted my brow. The possibilities were multiplying, and each one added to my apprehension.

  As soon as we arrived, I planned to check the cockpit of the smaller plane, after I made damn sure Father Gabriel got to his apartment or the temple, or wherever he wanted to be to make that damn phone call to Elijah.

  Delivering that envelope was the first step toward buying me the time I needed—just a couple of days.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sara

  Though my eyes ached to open, I stayed still, contemplating my next move as questions bombarded my mind, momentarily quelling the fear I should have been feeling at my new circumstance.

  Was I being watched? How would I escape? How, in this day and age, could this be happening? How did one man have so much power?

  The answer to the final question was simple. We, Father Gabriel’s followers, had given it to him. With each follower—chosen or otherwise—we’d given him our minds and our bodies. We’d willingly done his bidding, physical or psychological, without considering the consequences or the human toll.

  Each day without my medicine made the world clearer. I could look upon The Light with a new perspective. The daily psychological warfare was fierce and perfectly executed. If it were only a religious cult, it would be well planned, but now, considering the numbers I’d seen at the lab combined with the small bit of information Jacob had shared during our late-night talk about the pharmaceutical enterprise, the operation as a whole was flawless.

  Each and every person in The Light fortified Father Gabriel’s strength. He couldn’t do what he did alone, but with nearly a thousand people, he moved mountains and ruined lives. He did it in the name of God, but he was the only one profiting. Each of us was made to believe that without him we’d be no one. The reality was the opposite.

  Without us, he’d be nothing.

  I recalled the young couple at the temple yesterday. In front of more than a hundred followers, Father Gabriel had ordered their deaths. Then today he’d ordered m
ine. Not literal death, but the death of Sara Adams. He’d said the loss of my memories of the last nine months was necessary for reassignment.

  Were women so worthless in his mind that he could manipulate their lives as if they were toys he could take from one man and give to another?

  As my memories of life in the dark and in The Light continued to blend, I recalled a prayer Jacob had said on one of my first days as Sara. At the time I hadn’t understood the full impact. I hadn’t been able to comprehend. Now I did. Jacob had said the prayer as I was about to eat for the first time. He’d said, “Let this food be a reminder that privileges given can be taken away.” That’s what Father Gabriel had done today. The life Jacob and I’d built, no matter how perverse our circumstances, had been a privilege, and in a simple declaration Father Gabriel had taken it away.

  Perhaps I was suffering from dissociative identity disorder. As I lay motionless, I had the unreal ability to see everything from two different perspectives—Sara’s and Stella’s. I recognized how well The Light had conditioned me. If it hadn’t, I would have fought the descent into this cold dungeon. Most normal people would. However, from this dual perspective I could assess that as Sara I was no longer normal. I’d been conditioned to accept that the men knew best and to never question.

  Though there was a sense of peace in that mentality. I would fight heaven and hell to stop them from doing it to me again. I wasn’t in the circumpolar North. I was in an upscale community in Michigan. All I had to do was get out of this compound and get to the FBI. Though that seemed a difficult goal, considering the obstacles I’d already survived, it wasn’t impossible.

  As both mind-sets settled into my psyche, I took Sara’s peace and put my trust in the man who’d kept me safe for the last nine months. I also took Stella’s fear and let it come to life. Fear had a purpose. It kept people safe. It was that little voice that said not to go down the dark alleyway, or the rapid pulse that occurred when things weren’t as they appeared. Fear happened for a reason, and I needed to embrace it.

  To survive this, I needed both, the peace and the panic. I needed out of this basement.

  Muffled voices continued to waft from the other side of my locked door. Though some were louder than others, I couldn’t make out the words; however, I recognized both voices. I also heard the emotion in both. I had difficulty comprehending that Jacob and Dylan were even talking to each other, but recognized that the absurdity was more than coincidence.

  I tried to recall all I’d heard in Father Gabriel’s office. I didn’t have enough understanding for any of it to make sense. We had been prepared for the test. When I’d called Dylan Brother, it hadn’t been a Herculean effort. Though I’d known him in what seemed like another life, he hadn’t been introduced to me. Until Father Gabriel gave his permission, I hadn’t been told I could even speak to him. Therefore, once I was granted permission, the title came without thought. After all, as Sara, I knew that all men deserved a title.

  Definitely dissociative identity disorder.

  I’d hoped that after announcing my pregnancy I’d be allowed to stay with my husband. Since that’d been my goal, I’d failed. However, the announcement may have helped me avoid the drug Brother Elijah had planned to inject. Though Jacob was the one who initially stopped Brother Elijah, we both knew Jacob’s power was limited. He and Brother Elijah were both Assemblymen. Father Gabriel’s decrees were the final word. Then again, it wasn’t any of them who’d stopped the injection. It was Dylan.

  How did Dylan have that much power? Had he always, even when we’d been dating? How could I have dated someone involved in The Light and not known?

  I remembered my boss, Bernard Cooper, his concern about Dylan, and how he’d had Foster, my coinvestigator, look into his private life. I’d been the one to tell him to stop. I also realized that I’d discovered all the information I had about The Light while Dylan was right there. He’d gone with me to the morgue. He’d seen my pictures of the white building in Highland Heights. I’d given him a key to my apartment. Suddenly I wondered if my research had ever been found. I wondered if Bernard or Foster had gone through all I’d uncovered.

  Of course they hadn’t.

  My inner turmoil turned to anger as I thought that like my memory, more than likely, my research had been cleared away. Then again, Dylan had been the one to stop the medicine—the medicine that would allow my reassignment. What Brother Elijah had been about to inject wasn’t like the pills that Jacob had wanted me to restart. Father Gabriel had called it the high-dose memory suppressor.

  I didn’t want to think about it. Instead I held tightly to a sliver of hope that maybe together Jacob and Dylan could buy me some time, time I needed to save myself. I continued to believe until the voices stopped.

  A muffled sob erupted from my chest and my breath stuttered. The voices were gone. They’d left me and soon Jacob would fly back to Alaska. I was truly alone.

  The new silence came like a thick cloud settling in the chilled basement. In some ways it reminded me of my psyche after my accident. Time lost meaning as only my breaths moved me, and then slowly I became aware of the world beyond my closed eyes. I fought the cloud and pushed it away. The fine hairs on my arms stood to attention as Stella’s fear was realized. I wasn’t alone.

  Slowly I opened my eyes and turned my head. On one side of my bed, radiating coolness, was a gray wall. In the dim light I made out the rectangles and knew it was made of cement blocks. The far wall was also made of cement blocks. There was the one door, the one Jacob had walked through, and the one I’d heard lock. A dim light came from a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. Unlike the grand ceilings upstairs, this ceiling was nothing more than insulation and boards.

  As I turned to my right my breathing hitched. There was another bed in the room and someone was in it—a woman. Opening my eyes wide, I quickly sat and backed away, scooting myself to the top of the bed. Backed against the cold cement wall, I pulled my knees against my chest, while my heart beat erratically and I stared at the silhouette of a body. Memories of bodies on Tracy’s table in the morgue prickled my skin with goose bumps as I tried to determine whether the woman was alive.

  I released a breath as recognition propelled me from the remnants of my fog. Despite the bruises, contusions, and bandages around her eyes, I recognized the girl in the bed. Moving as quietly as I could, I eased myself to the cold hard floor. With my gaze narrowed to the other woman, I gasped as I nearly toppled an IV pole holding a bag of clear liquid near my bed.

  Shit! Have they medicated me?

  Quickly I scanned my arms. For only a moment, I feared that somehow I’d lost time, but my arms were clear of IV marks. Step by step I moved closer. Standing at her bedside, I saw the thick leather collar around her neck. Only a few inches wide, it wasn’t a brace, and seeing it, I was once again reminded of the bodies in the morgue. The one I recalled seeing with Dylan had had a thick bruise around its neck. Taking a deep breath, I reached for the woman’s hand. In the dim light, the tips of her fingers had the same ghostly hue as mine, and even in the coolness, her hand had warmth.

  Thank God!

  She was alive.

  She might have been alive, but the swelling and black-and-blue contusions of her face peering out from the bandages over her eyes, as well as the ones on her exposed arms, told me she’d lived through hell. Attached to her other arm was the IV, with two bags hanging from the pole. One was the same as the one near my bed. I hoped the other was pain medicine. I eased her blankets down and found a cast on her right leg. I knew where I’d seen her before. She was the girl from the service.

  “Sister Sara, leave her alone.”

  I turned at the voice. I’d been too interested in the unconscious woman to hear the opening of my cell. In the doorway was the figure of a woman. By her attire, I wondered whether she was the same one who’d opened the door when we first entered the mansion.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  Nervously I tugged the si
lver cross on my necklace and ran it up and down the chain. This was my means of escape. It couldn’t happen from within this cell. I needed to comply, no matter where she led. As I followed, I squinted—not that the outer room had natural light, but it was brighter than the room where I’d been held. I quickly scanned the new room. It was depressingly like the one I’d just left, unpainted cement block and cement floor, with only old couches as furniture.

  “In here,” the woman called from another room.

  As I followed her voice, my steps slowed at the threshold of the room where she’d led me. It was a bathroom.

  “You have three minutes, strip and shower.”

  “Excuse me?” I asked, my knees once again feeling too weak to hold me.

  Up close I saw that she wasn’t the same woman who’d opened the front door. This one had dark-blonde hair in a bun at the back of her head and was wearing the same shapeless white dress and soft shoes, but her scarf was a darker shade of blue. Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. Stepping closer, she lifted my silver cross and pulled. I gasped as the fine chain snapped.

  “Strip and shower. That means your jewelry. You’re no longer chosen nor are you married. I personally don’t care if you succeed or fail. However, I’ll give you a bit of advice—follow directions the first time.”

  When I didn’t reply she went on, “We all know the chosen think they’re so much better than the rest of us.”

  Defensive at her tone and words, I stood taller.

  She closed the distance between us until we were nose to nose. “Do you have a problem with following directions from followers?”